Tuesday, June 20, 2017

The Mystic








The blood of channels of ages
of ancient mad philosophers
waking at dawn,
resting bare feet
upon the face of Mother Earth,
staring in wondrous awe
to a skyline that speaks
of truth and wisdom.

Whispers of the velvet night,
and the newborn dawn,
sing in hushed angelic choirs,
comforting the spirit,
guiding the traveler,
like lanterns held high
in the searing desert sand,
telling the mind, body and soul,
to keep
moving
onward.

The well is not far,
dear friend,
and it is deep. 

The moss covered stones
have secrets
for you.

Step lightly,
in reverence,
drink of only
what is required
to sustain your spirit,
for there are others
following your tracks,
even if hidden
by the wailing wind.

They follow your scent,
like fireside smoke
spiraling,
above this dying world.

Rejoice,
for you are blessed
with the knowing
that existence is eternal,

and that this life 

is but
a dream. 



words & photography © Susan Marie 



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